Pledged in Blood
by Strange Soulmates
Summary: Harry Potter is accosted by a strange boy in the woods. The boy is Tom Riddle, and he's determined to escape his relatives. Morfin, pursing Tom, panics grabs them both. Harry and Tom grow closer throughout their ordeal, acting as each other's support as they plan to escape. When freedom finally comes, the bonds forged in captivity have far-reaching consequences.
1. Chapter 1

_This story is obviously AU, where Tom is born in like 1977 or 1978 and we shift all the Gaunts up accordingly. There is child abuse, but nothing too explicit, and only a little worse than what we see in cannon._

 _None of my other stories have been abandoned, I promise you. Grad school is just taking a toll, and I have 12k of this squirreled away._

* * *

Harry collapsed down onto a log, staring at the dirt between his feet morosely.

This camping trip was a disaster. Harry had known it would be, from the moment his mother had suggested it. Still, no matter how much he'd begged, he hadn't been able to get out of it. His father had been more sympathetic to his plight, but he hadn't been willing to go against Harry's mum. So here Harry was, stuck on a camping trip with his muggle uncle and cousin.

It was every bit as awful as Harry had feared it would be. Before they had left from Surrey, his Uncle Vernon had taken him aside and given him a stern lecture on how they would be "camping like real men" and "there wasn't to be any of his sort of nonsense". The trip to the campsite, one in the North, for some reason that completely escaped Harry, was pure torture. Several hours trapped in the backseat of the car with his cousin, who had apparently decided that the best form of entertainment was tormenting Harry. Uncle Vernon had confiscated his book at the first rest stop when he saw the pictures move, so he had nothing to do but stare out the window, listening to his Uncle tell stories about camping trips he'd been on while Harry did his best to dodge Dudley's pinches.

Things at the camp ground were no better. Dudley refused to do any of the work, and Uncle Vernon always found fault with anything Harry did while praising the work Dudley claimed as his own. It was only the start of the first day and he was ready to pull his hair out. When Uncle Vernon said they needed firewood, Harry jumped at the opportunity to get away from both of them for a bit.

It had only been a few hours. Harry had no idea how he was supposed to make it through the next week. He'd go crazy.

The sound of something crashing through the underbrush had Harry's head jerking upright, rubbing hastily at his burning eyes. For the millionth time, he wished he were old enough to have a wand.

"Hello?" Harry called hesitantly, moving towards the noise.

Another crash, and then a boy tumbled to the ground in front of him, chest heaving as he panted. His dark hair was a mess, grimy, with little bits of stuff sticking out of it. Mostly dried leaves, from the looks of things. He was wearing a plain black robe, which had Harry's heart soaring. A wizard! Maybe he had an owl Harry could use to send a message to his parents, so that they could come get him! Then Harry got a closer look at him, and his heart sank. The robe was a mess. Rips and tears everywhere, and parts of it looked shiny, like it was wet.

The wizard was in trouble. He had been running from something. Harry didn't know what, but it looked like he was hurt. Harry knew he was supposed to be careful with strangers, but this boy needed help.

Taking a step forward, Harry crouched down.

"Hey," Harry said, putting a hand on the boy's shoulder to get his attention. "Are you al…"

The wizard jerked away sharply, turning to face Harry. He looked like he was about the right age for Hogwarts, a few years older than Harry. His dark eyes were wide with purple circles underneath. Even as messy as he was, he was very handsome. Still, the look in his eyes reminded Harry of the cornered, wounded animals he found sometimes.

There was something wet on the fingers of the hand he'd pressed against the boy's shoulder, and Harry looked at them, stomach turning a little when he realized they were covered in blood.

"You're not alright," Harry said softly, answering his own question.

"No," the boy snapped at him. "I'm not."

Reaching out, he offered his hand to the boy on the ground, waiting patiently for him to take it.

Eyes that were brown and green and grey all at once darted over him warily, the boy no doubt judging his options. He started intently at Harry, as if he could see into Harry's soul if he tried hard enough. A glance back in the direction he had come from seemed to make up his mind, and he reached out and placed his hand in Harry's own.

"I'm Harry," Harry said as he pulled the boy to his feet, trying to be gentle. "Harry Potter."

The boy's eyes narrowed slightly at the introduction, but he offered his own name in return. "Tom Riddle."

"Come on," Harry said, slinging Tom's arm over his shoulder when he saw the way the boy winced when he tried to put his weight on one of his feet, "the campsite's this way. My uncle and cousin are muggles, but they should have at least some muggle first aid and a way to get in touch with my parents. They can take you to St. Mungos once they apparate here."

Tom had tensed at the word muggles, his eyes darting over to Harry.

"You're a wizard," he said slowly.

"Yeah," Harry said, doing his best to drag Tom forward.

"You'll send me back," he all but snarled, pushing away from Harry. "They'll send me back. I'm his _heir_ , after all," he spat out.

"Your family did this to you?" Harry asked, sadly.

If it hadn't been for Uncle Sirius it might have taken Harry longer to figure out exactly what had happened. But Uncle Sirius had sat him down not long ago and explained about why he didn't talk to his family anymore. He didn't get into specifics, but the broad strokes were enough. Harry's mum had been upset when she heard that Uncle Sirius had told him, arguing that he was too young. Uncle Sirius's response had been that there was no such thing as being too young, and that he wanted Harry to know that _no one_ was allowed to hurt him. It didn't matter who they were.

"I won't," Harry swore. "I won't let them send you back. The Ministry of Magic won't do it, and even if they try to, my parents won't let them. You'll come home with me. Nobody's allowed, Tom. If your family told you differently, they were lying."

Tom stared at him intently. " _Tell the truth_ ," he said, his words had a power behind them.

"I am," Harry answered, his voice dragged from between his lips. "I want to help. My dad's an Auror, and he won't let them hurt you again. I'm telling the truth, and I want to help."

Harry shook off whatever it was that had come over him and looked at Tom, eyes wide.

Tom was standing in front of him, eyeing Harry warily and clearly braced for something.

"Can you teach me how to do that?" Harry asked, words slipping out without his permission.

"What," Tom said flatly.

Harry rubbed at the back of his neck, embarrassed.

"It's just…I've never seen anybody do magic like that. It's really cool. Really useful, too, since you don't have a wand. But you've had rough time of things. I shouldn't have asked."

Tom just stood there, staring at him. He blinked once before stepping closer again, throwing his arm around Harry's shoulder.

"If you get me out of here, I'll show you," he said.

"Deal," Harry said with a grin.

The two stumbled back the way Harry had come. It was slow going, Tom's injuries no doubt making every step agonizing for the boy. Harry was impressed that he was still going despite the pain. All Harry had to do was help Tom walk, and he was already starting to flag. He couldn't imagine what it must have been like for Tom.

"I need a distraction," Harry announced. "Tell me about how you ended up here."

Harry peered upward to find Tom leveling him with a truly unimpressed look.

"What? It's easier to push through when you're focusing on something else," Harry told him. "Besides, you're going to be telling the story a lot as soon as my parents get here. Best to start practicing now, so you can be sure to get exactly the reaction you want, yeah? My dad's an Auror, so I know a little bit about this stuff. I can help you get the presentation exactly right."

The only sound for along moment was them trampling their way through the brush. Just as Harry had resigned himself to the idea of them spending the rest of the trip in silence unless he started babbling, Tom spoke.

"I was born in a muggle orphanage," he said slowly. "At least, that's what the matron told me. When I asked her."

"The way you asked me?"

Tom shot him a glare, and Harry gave a small shrug in apology.

"Yes. The way I asked you."

"Don't mention that you can do the asking thing. Maybe tell my parents when we're alone, but nobody else," Harry said. There were a lot of ministry officials who weren't going to like the idea of being forced to tell the truth.

Tom rolled his eyes.

"I hadn't planned on it, but _thank you_ for that _truly insightful_ tip," he drawled.

Harry bristled, but fought to reign in his temper. Tom had obviously been having a very bad day. One in what Harry suspected was a fairly long series. Harry needed to try and be patient, no matter what Tom said.

"Muggle orphanage," Harry prompted him, once he felt he wasn't at risk of snapping.

"My mother died giving birth to me," Tom said, resuming his story.

It sounded detached, the way Tom said it. Like he didn't care at all. But, Harry figured, if he'd never known his parents, it might be a bit like that for him. There wasn't anything Tom could do to change it, and it wasn't like he'd ever known the woman.

"She lived just long enough to name me," Tom continued, either not noticing Harry's distraction or choosing to ignore it. "Tom," he said the name disdainful, as if he felt himself above it, "after my father. And Marvolo, after hers."

While Tom clearly wasn't fond of his first name, he spat his middle name like it was poison. His grandfather, Harry wagered, was the man Tom was running from.

"I was…different…from the other children at the orphanage. Strange things kept happening around me. I was ostracized because of it. They thought I was possessed."

"It was accidental magic!" Harry crowed, upset at the idea of Tom being isolated because of something so essential to who he was. "You couldn't control it!"

"But I could," Tom corrected Harry. "After the first few times it happened, I put my mind to figuring out exactly what was happening. By the time I was six I was doing things on purpose. I was in perfect control of my magic, Harry. I could make things move without touching them. I could make animals do what I wanted without training them. I could make bad things happen to people who annoyed me. I could make them hurt if I wanted to. And I did."

Harry swallowed, throat suddenly dry. He'd never heard of someone doing things like that with their accidental magic. Of being able to control it. To use it like that…

"When you talk to the ministry," Harry said, after careful consideration, "don't put it like that. Say you figured out how to use your accidental magic to defend yourself from the orphans who were bullying you. That you found a way to make them leave you alone."

Tom just stared at him again.

"What?" Harry asked. "This way, you still get to highlight how much control you have, which is almost unheard of honestly, and will get you lots of positive attention, while working the orphan thing to your advantage."

"You aren't scared of me?" Tom asked. "I could make you hurt just by thinking about it. I've done it before."

"That wouldn't be particularly smart of you at the moment though," Harry said, forcing himself to sound cheerful as he continued picking his way through the underbrush while supporting Tom's weight. "What with me carrying you right now, and all."

Tom glared at him in response.

"I'm a little bit scared, yeah. But…the ones you hurt, they weren't very nice to you, were they?"

Tom's expression was answer enough.

"That's what I thought," Harry said. "Besides, I'm more impressed than I am scared. I mean, the stuff you did, that's not typical accidental magic. I don't know anybody who has that kind of control over it. It's mostly based on emotions and need. But to not just be able to control it, but do the kinds of things you were doing? You're going to be a _really_ powerful wizard one day. I mean, you are one already. I don't think I know anybody who can do what you can without a wand." Harry thought about it a little more, brow furrowed. "Dumbledore, maybe, but that's it."

Still, it raised some interesting possibilities. Magic, Harry knew, was all about will. Now that he knew it was possible, could he use his accidental magic the same way Tom did? Every bout he'd had so far had been about wanting things, it was true. You had to want or need something badly enough that you instinctually tapped into your magical core. Could he _make_ it happen? Do it on purpose?

It was worth a shot, at least.

With every spare bit of attention that wasn't focused on his footing or on Tom's words, he fixated on how much he _wanted_ Tom to be better, how much he needed some of those injuries to be healed.

It didn't feel like anything happened, and it didn't _seem_ like anything happened, and Tom didn't mention anything happening, so Harry figured it hadn't worked. He wasn't really all that surprised. Still, there was no reason not to _keep_ doing it.

"My grandfather found out my mother had had a child before dying," Tom said, and voice was filled with contempt. "No heir of his was going to be raised by muggles, even if it was a filthy half-blood. So he took me."

Harry tightened his grip on Tom as much as he dared, trying to offer silent comfort without further injuring the boy beside him. Harry saw Tom steal a glance at him out of the corner of his eyes, but before Harry could say anything Tom had begun speaking again.

"Both my grandfather and uncle are sterile. So I'm the last of the Gaunt line. A half-blood is better than nothing, though not by much."

"That is just..." words failed Harry as he struggled to find a way to accurately express just how _wrong_ that was. All he could manage was a wordless snarl of rage.

"They did little to endear me to pureblood fanaticism," Tom said with a sneer. "All you have to do is _look_ at them to understand why it's such a bad idea. The consequences of inbreeding are easy to see."

Harry gave Tom a grin for that, and was pleasantly surprised by the smile he got in return. It was sharper and a little more ruthless than a smile should be, but Harry couldn't help but think that it suited Tom in some strange way.

"He took me to Gaunt ancestral home once he'd removed me from the orphanage." Tom looked at Harry, expression conveying a deep, abiding distain that words alone could not have conveyed. "The Gaunt ancestral home is a shack that is falling apart. To have a creature such as Marvolo Gaunt think himself above me and be able to do nothing to correct this misunderstanding is a torture worse than any of his lessons could be."

Harry tried very hard not to imagine what those "lessons" might be. Tom's injuries and overall appearance painted a grim enough picture without his help.

"You'll show him," Harry promised Tom. "We'll get you help, and then you'll go to Hogwarts and get your wand. You'll be the best wizard since Merlin. You'll show _all_ of them," Harry promised rashly, words bubbling up out of him from someplace deep inside him.

Tom stared at him for awhile a smile curled its way over his lips. It was different than the other one Harry had seen. It was small, a deepening at the corner of his mouth and the slightest upward curve of his lips, but this one reached his eyes. The slight warmth now visible there was a startling contrast to how they had looked before.

Harry liked it even more than the other one. He wanted to see it more. Wanted Tom to grow comfortable enough that it grew. Wanted to know what it would look like when it stretched across his face.

Harry vowed to himself then and there that he would do whatever it took to see Tom smile for real.

He felt something tug sharply inside him then, and recognized after several years the feeling of his magic striking out haphazardly to do what he needed.

 _Tom_ , Harry though fiercely. _I need to help Tom._

Just in time. The thought was barely finished before he felt his magic surge out of him. Tom jerked in surprise, his eyes flying to Harry's, jaw clenched. Harry smiled as reassuringly as he could.

Rage burned in Tom's eyes as he shoved himself away from Harry. Harry watched as that rage froze, and the expression on Tom's face would have been funny under other circumstances. Tom shifted, the rage fading away to leave a blank mask in it's place. Tom rolled his shoulders as he let his foot take the entire weight.

Tom's gaze fixed on Harry, eyes unreadable.

"You healed me," he said slowly.

Harry perked up immediately.

"It worked?" Harry said, pleased. "I can't believe it worked! I mean, I've been trying since you said you could control your accidental magic, but still!"

"You did this on purpose," Tom said each word slowly, as if he was testing the way they sounded together.

"I did!" Harry crowed. "I did magic on purpose! And it worked!"

Unable to help himself, he spun around in a small circle, letting out a little whoop of joy. When he stopped, Tom was staring at him, head cocked.

"I don't understand you, Harry Potter," Tom said seriously, but the corners of his mouth were deep in that same way they had been when he'd smiled. Taking a few steps forward, he closed the space between them. "We should get moving. I'll be able to move much faster now."

"Come on," Harry said, reaching out and grabbing Tom's hand. "The campsite's this way."

Tom's face took on that blank look from a moment before, but he didn't pull his hand from Harry's own, and he followed where Harry lead.

"It's right over that hill," Harry said, pointing with his free hand.

A sharp crack rent the air and Harry froze, barely even noticing as Tom collided with his back as he stared in horror at the figure in front of them.

He had thick hair, so matted and dirty Harry couldn't even begin to guess what color it was. Several of his teeth were missing, and his dark eyes pointed in different directions. He opened his mouth, and instead of words there came a long, low hissing sound.

Harry had never been more afraid in his life.

Tom's hand tightened around his own briefly before the other boy stepped in front of him. Another hiss broke the silence, but this time it came from Tom. Harry gripped Tom's robe in his free hand, trying desperately to keep calm.

His parents were both Gryffindors. They'd been head boy and head girl. His father was an Auror. Harry wasn't going to hide behind his friend when Tom needed him.

Taking a deep breath, Harry marshaled his courage and took a step out, so that he was no longer standing behind Tom, but next to him.

"Harry, what the hell are you doing?" Tom asked him out of the corner of his mouth while his relative hissed. "Never mind that, when I tell you to, I want you to run."

"No," Harry said, planting his feet more firmly against the ground. "I'm not leaving you here alone. I told you I would help you, and I will."

"You _idiot_ ," Tom hissed at him. "Now is not the time for heroics! Now, _run._ "

Before Harry could retort, the terrifying man in front of them pulled out a wand. A red jet shot from the end of it towards Tom. Acting purely on instinct, Harry reached out and shoved with all his might. Tom stumbled out of the path of the spell, and Harry had a brief moment of satisfaction before red engulfed his world and everything faded to black.

* * *

Harry woke all at once, jerking awake abruptly. He opened his eyes and immediately wished he hadn't. Standing above him was a man who looked like a monkey. His brown eyes set in a wrinkled face stared down at Harry, practically burning with anger. He wasn't as tall as the man from the clearing, with broad shoulders and too-long arms, one of which was holding a wand that was pointed right at Harry's face.

Harry could hear his heartbeat in his ears and his palms were sweaty as the fear swept through him.

"What's your name, filth?" the man holding the wand asked.

"Harry Potter," Harry answered, voice trembling.

Harry couldn't stand lying here on his back. He felt helpless. But with the wand practically pressed against his nose and the man glaring at him like someone might look at a cockroach beneath their shoe.

"Sit up," the man snarled at him, and suddenly the only thing Harry wanted in the world was to keep lying on his back staring up at the beams of the slanted wooden ceiling.

Harry pressed his palms against the floor and pushed himself upright on shaking arms. When he was fully upright the wand was pressed right up against his forehead, a small point of pressure that that made all his hair stand on end and ice to settle low in his stomach.

"Potter," the man in front of him said. "I know the name. Old family, the Potters. Almost as old as the Gaunts. Are you a pureblood, boy?"

Harry shook his head from side to side, arms shaking even harder than before.

"Mudblood filth," the man said.

The man pursed his lips, and then something wet landed on Harry's cheek. It took him a long, moment to realize it was spit.

"Still, it's no real surprise, is it?" the man sneered. "Found you with my grandson, didn't I? No surprise he managed to go sniffing out his own kind."

His contemptuous look was directed off to the side. Harry didn't dare turn his head, but if he looked out of the corner of his eye he could catch sight of two different figures.

One was the terrifying man who had hissed at him in the campsite. The man had one arm wrapped tightly around the arm of a smaller figure with a bloody nose. Tom, looking worse than when Harry had last seen him, but better than when they had first met.

Tom's face was completely impassive, but his jaw was clenched. His eyes darted to where Harry was sitting for a moment before flicking back to the man Harry guessed was Tom's grandfather.

"He's worthless," the man said, "but he's family. So we find uses for him. You," the man said, pressing the wand even harder against Harry's forehead, making him whimper, "on the other hand, are not. So why should we bother keeping you around?"

Harry's chest was heaving, his brain completely frozen.

"Morfin made a mistake, bringing you back to our home," the monkey man said, eyes still full of fury. "He should have dealt with you like the pest you are when he found you scum together."

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying desperately not to cry, biting his lip hard to keep his frightened whimpers from escaping.

"I should fix his mistake," the man said, looking at Harry like one might look at a bug they were trying to make up their mind about whether or not to squish. "No, I will fix his mistake."

He was going to die, Harry suddenly realized. He was going to die, right here, right now. He was never going to see his mum or his dad again. He would never get to go to Hogwarts, never get to play a real game of Quidditch, never be an Auror like his dad. Never learn to be an animagus, like Uncle Sirius and the rest of the Marauders.

He was going to die.

"NO!" Tom shouted, and Harry heard the noise of a scuffle before suddenly Tom was there, his hands on Harry's shoulders, yanking Harry away from the wand at his forehead. He stepped in front of Harry, standing over Harry, body now between him and the man who had almost been Harry's murderer.

Harry fell forward, burring his face in Tom's robe, ignoring the smell and the grime and the blood, just grateful to have something to hold on to.

"So little Tommy's got himself a pet," the monkey man sneered. "Filthy little mudblood pet for the filthy halfblood boy."

Harry could feel Tom trembling from his grip on the boy's robe.

"Fine," the man said at last. "Fine. Maybe a pet would do you good. Some responsibility to keep you from straying from home so often."

Harry was shaking so hard he was surprised he couldn't hear his teeth chattering in his skull.

"You can keep your mudblood pet, _Tom_ ," the man said, spitting out the other boy's name like it was disgusting. "He can earn his keep. Learn what it's like to be a _proper_ wizard. First lesson starts now."

" _Crucio_ ," the man said.

The world vanished, leaving only pain.

* * *

Harry hurt. Harry hurt _everywhere_. Every breath was agony. It was like he had a sunburn, but _inside_ him. The cement wall behind him was the only reason he was still upright.

Tom had had to drag him out of the room and down the stairs into the basement. His arms and legs had been like limp noodles, and it had been all Harry could do to hang there when Tom finally managed to sling Harry's arm over his shoulder in a mirror image of their meeting.

The stairs had been bad. The stairs had been _bad_.

Still, it was better than being thrown down them, which Harry _knew_ would have been the outcome if they had dawdled at all. Tom had known it too, given the pace he'd set, for all that his jaw clenched every time Harry had let out a whimper.

"How's your side?" Tom asked him, sliding down the wall to sit next to Harry.

"Hurts," Harry said simply, voice little more than a croak.

After the curse had been lifted, and before Harry could gather himself enough to even attempt to roll on to his side, a foot had connected solidly with his ribs. His pain had been met with laughter, and he was rewarded with a sound he feared would become familiar before he was spat on once again.

"Doesn't hurt more than anything else though," Harry told him, throat burning with every word.

"Don't talk," Tom snapped at him. "You screamed yourself hoarse. Talking now could damage your throat more. Just nod."

Tom reached out and pressed his hand against Harry's side, fingers jabbing and prodding in ways that sent off fresh waves of pain.

"Do you feel like you're going to pass out?" Tom asked him, hazel eyes serious as they studied Harry in the dim light. "Are you having trouble breathing?"

Harry shook his head no to the first. While under the curse, he had been in too much pain to pass out. Now the pain was gone, but he felt raw. He had to think about the second a little more carefully. Breathing hurt, but not because it was breathing. It hurt because it involved moving. He thought any movement would probably feel the same. He gave a shrug and before slowly shaking his head.

"I don't think anything's broken," Tom said at last, withdrawing his hand.

Harry slumped over and let his head fall onto Tom's shoulder. He needed to know he wasn't alone. Tom tensed, shoulders stiffening, and Harry worried he'd managed to hurt him. After all, he wasn't the only one who'd been cursed.

Tom's arm shifted and Harry felt like the biggest idiot in the world. But then the arm wrapped around him and settled tentatively on his shoulder and he let himself fall against Tom's side completely, relief swelling in him almost painfully.

"That was incredibly _stupid_ ," Tom said, but his voice was soft, and his tone was at odds with the words. "If you had just run when I told you to, you could have gotten away. Gotten help. Then we'd both be fine, instead of stuck here."

Harry let his eyes fall to the dirt floor, cheeks heating, feeling small. It wasn't fair. He'd done this for Tom. Running might have been smarter, but Harry couldn't have abandoned Tom. He just couldn't've.

"You should have run," Tom said. "But you stayed. Everyone in my life has left me. You stayed. You healed me and you pushed me out of the way and you _stayed_."

Of course he'd stayed. Harry couldn't have done anything else. He would never leave a friend behind.

Recalling Tom's warning about his throat, Harry reached out and fisted his hand in Tom's robes, curling himself even closer to the boy beside him. Trying to communicate what he couldn't say with words, yes, but he just needed to be close to someone right now.

Tears began to pool in his eyes as his day finally caught up with him.

He'd been kidnapped. He'd been kidnapped by bad people who had hurt him. People who were going to keep hurting him, the way they'd hurt Tom. The sobs tore themselves out of his chest, his entire face was burning as he cried. He was sore, he was tired, he wanted his mum and his dad but they weren't there because he'd been kidnapped. He might never see them again.

Tom's hand came to rest on his back, rubbing up and down in a soothing motion. Harry burred his head as far into Tom's robes as he could and began to sob harder.

He cried until there were no more tears left to cry. Tom said nothing, simply rubbing his hand up and down Harry's back. It wasn't enough to stop him crying right away, but Harry started taking deep, hitching breaths, focusing on the warmth of Tom's hand against his back, on Tom's voice as he tried desperately to calm Harry down. He wasn't alone. This was scary, but he wasn't alone.

At last, still sniffling, Harry slowly sat up. Tom was staring down at him warily, concern and confusion equally obvious.

"Don't do that again," Tom ordered him. "I didn't like it."

Harry let out a small, wet laugh, unable to believe what the other boy had just said. Of course. Tom didn't like that Harry had been crying. It had made Tom uncomfortable. That was what was important.

Harry understood, suddenly. Tom had never had a friend before. The children at the orphanage had all been afraid of him and bullied him, and he'd been stuck with his family ever since. Tom didn't know how to care about other people, because other people had never cared about him.

Harry would teach him, he vowed to himself. He would care about Tom, he'd show Tom that not everyone was out to hurt him. He would stay.

"You're a mess," Tom told him, eyeing his face critically and lips pressed together in distaste.

Embarrassed, Harry grabbed his glasses and shoved them at Tom, knowing they would be in the way otherwise. Harry reached for the edge of his shirt, but Tom reached out and grabbed his face first. Tom's eyes were narrowed as he tilted Harry's head upwards. Fabric scrubbed across Harry's skin, a little too rough as Tom used his own sleeve to rub the tears and snot off Harry's face.

Tom's blurry face peered down at Harry once he was done. Tom nodded once to himself before he pressed Harry's glasses back into his hand. Harry put them on before giving Tom a look, allowing his expression to speak the words he wasn't allowed to voice.

"My robes were already ruined," Tom said. "A little more mucus and tears weren't going to make a difference, not after you sobbed all over me."

Harry gave the bloodstains, rips, and tears already present on Tom's robe a pointed look before looking back at Tom.

"Which is why I didn't protest in the first place," Tom said primly.

Harry snorted, but let it go. Instead, he leaned back against Tom's shoulder with a smile. He reached out and patted Tom's chest in a silent thank you.

Tom's response was to wrap his arm around Harry once again, pulling him close.

"It gets better," Tom told him. "Not the curse itself. That will always hurt. But the recovery afterwards, that part gets easier."

Harry let his hands fist tighter in Tom's robes. Again. Tom was giving him advice about what it would feel like when it happened again. Because it would. That Tom had been under the curse often enough to be able to give him that advice made him as angry as it made him scared.

"I can't stop them from hurting you," Tom said slowly, no doubt seeing how terrified Harry was. "But I won't let them kill you. I won't. And I promise you, Harry, one day we'll pay them back. We'll pay them back for everything."


	2. Chapter 2

**Happy Yule everyone! I'll be updating _As Certain Dark Things Are to be Loved_ later today to celebrate as well :)**

* * *

Three months later, Harry woke without an alarm. A quick glance at the only window in the basement revealed that the sky was still pink, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He carefully untangled himself from Tom's limbs, trying, as always, not to wake his friend.

Today he wasn't successful. As soon as he stood, Tom's eyes fluttered open.

Sighing in defeat, Harry closed his eyes and concentrated, focusing on his magical inside of him. _"Lumos"_ he said, pulling it to the surface. A small ball of light formed just above his hand, illuminating the dim basement.

Harry couldn't help but grin. Tom was the one who'd taught him how to make his accidental magic less accidental in the past few months. Even though success had become the norm rather than the exception, it would never stop being amazing to Harry. Still, his feats paled in comparison to Tom, who didn't even need words most of the time.

Tom sat upright on the blanket they'd managed to salvage from one of the boxes stacked in the corner of the basement. It was moth-eaten and water-stained, but much better than nothing. His hair was a rumpled mess, as it always was when he woke up.

Harry passed Tom his robe after grabbing his own from where they hung them overnight on the banister, knowing not to try and speak to his friend until Tom spoke first. Tom wasn't a morning person and if he was interrupted before he had time to fully wake up, he was a little scary. It was part of why Harry tried to avoid waking him whenever he could. He was always more than happy to spend time alone with Tom, but his friend dearly needed his rest, especially in the morning.

"No nightmare last night," Tom said as he pulled his robe over his head.

Harry froze. Ever since his kidnapping, he'd been having nightmares on and off. The past week it had been particularly bad. Ever since Morfin had hit him with a curse that had given him terrifying visions, they had followed him into his dreams. He'd woken up in the middle of the night to Tom's hand over his mouth muffling his screams every night since.

Except, apparently last night.

"No," Harry said with a smile as he pulled his robe on. "No, there wasn't."

Harry was glad. The nightmares had been bad for him, but he couldn't help but feel they had been just as bad, if not worse, for Tom. It was Tom he woke with his thrashing. Tom who kept him from making too much noise and attracting the ire of Morfin and Marvolo. It was Tom who held him when he woke up, gasping and crying, whispering words of comfort and promises of vengeance in Harry's ear.

"Stop it," Tom snapped, rising fluidly to his feet, closing the distance between them.

"Stop what?" Harry asked, his gaze on his dirty bare feet against the dirt floor as he fiddled with his fingers.

Tom reached out and gently pulled Harry's face upwards until their eyes met.

"You are the best thing that has ever happened to me, Harry Potter," Tom said. "I only wish I wasn't the worst thing that ever happened to you."

"You're not!" Harry denied vehemently. "You're not. You're my best friend, Tom, and I'll never be sorry I met you. I wouldn't trade your friendship for anything in the world."

"Not even your freedom?" Tom asked quietly.

"Not even that," Harry said. "Together or not at all."

"Together or not at all," Tom echoed.

There was a creak of a floorboard from upstairs, and both their heads shot up before they exchanged panicked looks. Harry sprinted away from Tom and up the stairs as quickly and as quietly as he could. He'd only just reached the top step when there was the sound of the lock turning and the door was yanked open.

Marvolo Gaunt glared down at him, disgust as obvious as ever. He said nothing. He usually didn't think Harry was worth wasting breath on. Harry made his way to the kitchen as he did every morning. Pulling down pots and pans and pulling out food was a matter of habit now, stretching on tip-toes to reach the back burner.

A snake slithered by his feet and Harry ignored it. Snakes were a given when three parselmouths all lived in the same place, and nothing to worry about. Morfin had sent them after him at first, but Harry had never really been afraid of them. The bites hurt, but not nearly as much as most of what he was subject to with the Gaunts. When Harry didn't react the way Morfin had hoped, he'd moved on to other methods of torment.

Harry plated the breakfast, two large servings for Morfin and Marvolo, a smaller one for Tom, and only a piece of toast for himself. Breakfast served, he retreated from dinning room to clean up the mess in the kitchen. There was the sound of chairs scraping against the floor as Morfin took his seat. There was the sound of a door opening, and a long hiss, and then the sound of Tom ascending the stairs. They walked through the kitchen, Marvolo giving Harry a thoughtless slap to the back of the head that left his ears ringing and had him staggering, bracing himself against the counter to keep himself from falling.

Tom gave a low snarl and put his hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry reached out and wrapped his hand around Tom's wrist before turning and meeting his gaze. There was rage burning in Tom's eyes. The kind of rage that resulted in him lashing out. Harry shook his head. It wasn't worth it. Not today. Not yet. Tom glared at him, and Harry glared back, squeezing Tom's wrist. Tom's jaw clenched, but after a long moment he nodded. He gave Harry's shoulder one last squeeze before pulling his hand out of Harry's grip and making his way into the dinning room.

Hisses broke out in the room as Harry turned his attention to the dishes. He had the sink running and had placed the first pot in the soapy water when he felt something cold and wet against his ankle. He looked down to find the same snake from before at his feet. Sighing, Harry leaned down and offered his hand.

"Come on," Harry said. "You can perch on my shoulder and keep me company while I do the dishes, if you'd like."

The snake's forked tongue touched against his thumb and then it slithered onto his palm. Harry carefully lifted it and placed it on his shoulder. The snake, a tiny little thing just under a foot long, draped itself happily across his shoulders, hissing in conversation.

Not for the first time, Harry wished he spoke parseltongue. Tom often served as translator for those snakes who made their way to the basement or that they managed to smuggle down, but direct conversation would be so much better. It would give him a chance to eavesdrop on the Gaunt's conversations directly, instead of having to rely on translation from Tom after the fact.

With a little help from his not-so-accidental magic, it wasn't much work at all to wash and dry the dishes, the hissed commentary of his new companion only making his work easier, for all he didn't understand it. He could still hear hissing coming from the dinning room, meaning he still had a few moments to himself before the start of the day. Harry leaned against the counter, nibbling his toast and turning his attention fully to his new companion.

"I'm sorry I'm not very good company, what with not understanding you and all," Harry told the snake on his shoulder in a barely-there whisper. "But if you really want to have a conversation, you have lots of choices in this house, which I'm sure is something of a novelty. In fact, everyone but me should be able to chat with you. Tom might, if you catch him at the right moment. Morfin's the most likely to spend time with you, but…he's not very nice. Not even to snakes. Some of the games he plays are…mean," Harry told the snake. "It's generally just best to avoid Marvolo entirely."

The snakes tongue touched against his cheek, but did nothing else. Seemingly content with Harry's company. Or his body heat. Either way, Harry was grateful for the small weight on his shoulder as he ate his breakfast. It was usually fairly lonely for him, as Tom was required to eat it with his relatives.

Harry heard the sound of chairs pushing back and he hurriedly ate the rest of his breakfast. It was time to get to work.

Harry grabbed the dishes from the dinning room, freezing when he saw it was not empty as he had initially assumed. Morfin was still sitting there. One of his eyes was fixed on Harry, the other staring at the wall. Harry gulped.

Morfin hissed at him. Morfin always hissed at him. In the entire time he'd been there, Harry didn't think he'd ever heard the man speak a word of English.

The snake had shifted when Morfin spoke, and Harry took a guess at what the man wanted. Reaching out, Harry pulled the snake off his shoulder. He held it outstretched in his open hands. He wasn't going to give it to Morfin, but if the snake wanted to spend time with someone who could understand it, Harry could understand that.

Morfin held out his hand next to Harry's, and the snake happily slithered into it. Morfin gave him a smug gap-toothed grin before hissing at the snake, which began to weave between his fingers. Harry gave him a small smile. He was happy the snake had found someone to talk to, at least.

Morfin gave him a considering look before reaching out with his free hand and grabbing the empty plate in front of him, passing it to Harry. Harry just started at it dumbly for a moment. Never before had Morfin done anything that could make Harry's life easier. He was almost certain it was a trap. Harry reached out cautiously and took it before quickly retreating to the kitchen.

Nothing happened.

Harry poked his head around the wall of the kitchen to find both Morfin and the snake gone. His shoulders fell and he heaved a sigh of relief. Harry retrieved the rest of the plates from the table and dumped them in the sink, grateful for a return to routine. Harry didn't like not knowing what to expect.

After the dishes were done, he made his way to the living room. It was Harry's responsibility to clean the house while Marvolo taught Tom his family history. Marvolo was seated in an armchair by the fire, while Tom perched on the ratty love seat across the room. Harry observed the rest of the room, being careful to avoid Marvolo's gaze as he did so. The floor was a disaster, as it always was. The downside to having a huge number of snakes living in the building and having them always coming and going was the mess that came with them. There were trails of white everywhere, with the occasional scraps of skin from a shedding snake or undigested bits of fur or fang or claw. Harry sighed and left to fetch the mop.

Marvolo didn't start speaking until Harry had returned, and when he did begin his lecture it was it english. That meant it was one of the lessons that Harry was meant to be learning as well, for all that he wasn't supposed to let the instruction interfere with his other duties. Once Harry had wet the mop and placed it against the ground, he began his lecture.

"Do you know what this is?" Marvolo asked, holding his hand up, sunlight reflecting off the stone set in the ring Harry had never seen him without.

For a short time, Harry had thought it was perhaps a Lordship ring, for all that the idea of Marvolo being Lord of anything struck him as absurd, no matter how the man carried himself. Harry had never heard of the Gaunts, and he was certain he would have if Marvolo had a seat in the Wizengamot. Besides, Harry had never seen a Lordship ring with a stone.

Still, Harry said nothing. Unless spoke to directly, the most he would ever do was mutter his own answers under his breath.

"A ring," Tom said, "though given your attachment to it, it clearly has some significance I am unaware of."

The words had been spoken in a deferent tone of voice, but Harry could see the barely masked contempt on Tom's face. Still, his eyes were fixed unwaveringly on the ring, and Harry didn't have to guess why.

Tom had told Harry of his days in the orphanage. Of the collection he'd kept in his wardrobe. The ring was clearly the thing Marvolo Gaunt valued most in the world. There was no question in Harry's mind what spoils of war Tom had chosen for his eventual victory over Marvolo.

"This ring," Marvolo said, "has been in our family for centuries. That's how far back we go! And pureblood all the way. Until you," the man said, eyeing Tom with disgust. "Centuries of purity, destroyed. Because of your muggle-loving mother."

"Your mother," Marvolo sneered, "who cost us the only other proof of our heritage. This is all we have left of our once illustrious name. This and _you_."

Harry pressed the mop harder against the floor, channeling his anger into scrubbing at the stubborn stains as he clenched his jaw to keep his mouth shut.

"Look here," Marvolo ordered sharply. "You too, boy."

Harry carefully propped his mop up against the couch before picking his way back over to where Marvolo sat. He took the opportunity to brush up against Tom's side, trying to offer his friend silent reassurance. Tom's fingers brushing quickly along the back of his hand in a silent thank you was all he needed to know that his friend had understood.

Harry stepped into Marvolo's space nervously, more than glad to let Tom maneuver so that he was largely between the two of them. Harry cast Marvolo a wary look, but the only expression he could make out was that of pride. Cautiously bending over, Harry peered at the black stone.

Etched in the center was a symbol. A triangle, with a circle inside of it, with the entire thing bisected by a straight line.

"See that?" Marvolo said. "That mark? Recognize it, boy?"

Harry shook his head. Something about it was familiar, but Harry couldn't quite place it.

"Don't know your history, do you?" Marvolo sneered at him.

Harry leaned back, taking shelter behind Tom as much as he could.

"Mudblood mother can't teach you what you need to know. And your blood traitor father has clearly forgotten, or you wouldn't be here." Marvolo scoffed.

Tom reached out and grabbed Harry's hand behind his back where Marvolo couldn't see, squeezing it in reassurance. Harry closed his eyes and squeezed back. He took a deep breath, taking strength from Tom's hand in his own. He could do this. He could. They were in this together.

"Listen up then, while you're cleaning," Marvolo told him.

Thus dismissed, Harry made his way back to the mop, grateful to be out of Marvolo's immediate reach. Tom followed him as far as the couch, shooting him one last look before he settled and Harry had to turn his attention to the floor.

"That mark is the Peverell coat of arms," Marvolo said, chest puffed up like a pigeon. "The Gaunt family can trace their lineage back to the Peverells, back to Cadmus Peverell himself. The Peverell brothers were some of the most powerful wizards to ever live. And we are his direct decedents. This ring proves it!"

Marvolo launched into a rant about the accomplishments of the Peverell, about what the Gaunt family had done over the years, reciting ancestors going back over hundreds of years.

Harry turned his attention to the floor, having heard some variation on this rant at least once a week since he had arrived here. It didn't take long. Harry knew just how to apply his accidental magic to simplify the process as much as possible without drawing attention to the fact that he was doing so. He was able to move on to cleaning the bookshelves before Marvolo had reached the fifteen hundreds.

The house was nice, for all that it was small and in the middle of nowhere. It wasn't the Gaunt shack. That, apparently, had been abandoned right after Morfin had brought Harry back with him. The house, from what Harry had been able to gather during his cleaning, had once belonged to a muggle couple. Harry tried very hard not to think about what had happened to them when he was dusting their things.

Shooting a glance at Marvolo to make sure he was still entrenched in his rant, Harry reached out and quickly shoved a book off the shelf under his robe. The robes he was given were ones that were no longer fit for Tom to wear, meaning they were always too big and more hole than cloth in most places. The benefit was that he had plenty of places to hide things. He and Tom had managed to amass quite a collection of books in the basement. And they never had to worry about the books being missed — Marvolo thought books were beneath him, and Harry wasn't certain Morfin could read.

Marvolo's lecture ended just as Harry had finished cleaning the common areas of the house. Thankfully, today wasn't a day where he was required to clean either Marvolo or Morfin's room. All the potion brewing had been finished two days ago, which meant Harry's only remaining responsibility was to make lunch for Morfin and Marvolo.

A sharp look from Marvolo sent Harry scurrying to the kitchen. He overheard the familiar sounds of the basement door closing and the lock being engaged as Tom was banished to the basement. Harry had pulled out the bread for the sandwiches by the time Marvolo returned to the kitchen to stare over his shoulder.

Harry felt his gaze like a physical weigh, fighting to keep his hands steady as he assembled the sandwiches as quickly as he could. He hated being alone with Marvolo. It almost never ended well. Still, he managed to assemble the sandwiches in record time, eager to get out as quickly as possible. He plated them both, leaving Morfin's on the counter before he turned around to offer Marvolo his.

The man lurched forward suddenly, startling Harry. He flinched, and the plate fell from his grasp. Harry watched in horror as it hit the ground, shards of ceramic exploding outward in every direction as the plate shattered.

Silence.

Harry slowly looked up from the floor to Marvolo, barely daring to breathe.

Five minutes later, Harry was tossed onto the basement steps, a ring of bruises around his neck, a sore back, and his fingers covered in burns. The door was slammed above him and Harry heard the lock slide into place. Harry let out a huge sigh of relief. He was safe now.

The stairs shook, and in matter of moments Harry was gently guided into a sitting position by familiar hands. Tom stared down at him, jaw clenched and brows furrowed as his eyes flicked over Harry in a familiar way.

"What happened?" Tom asked, one hand reaching out so that the fingers just barely brushed against the bruises forming against his neck, the other fisted tightly at his side.

"Dropped Marvolo's lunch," Harry said with a wry smile. "Learned some new spells, though."

"We weren't going to provoke them again until tomorrow," Tom said, eyes blazing with anger. "And even then it was my turn."

"I didn't do it on purpose," Harry told him, sitting up further, wincing a little as his back gave a twinge. "He scared me, and I dropped the plate."

Tom reached out and took Harry's hands in his own, examining the burns intently.

"Any other injuries?" Tom asked, his voice deadly calm.

"I hit my back pretty hard, and it still hurts a little, but other than that, no," Harry said.

Tom reached out to grab Harry by the elbow and pulled him to his feet. The grip stayed around his elbow as Tom gently guided him down the stairs. When the reached the blanket, Tom's hand shifted, shoving him down onto the dirty comforter. Tom sank down on his knees in front of him, eyes hard.

"Tell me," Tom ordered, taking Harry's hands in his own once again.

"Dropped the plate," Harry told him. "He said ' _flipendo'_ and it smacked me into the wall. Hard. That's how I hurt my back. After than he grabbed me."

Harry didn't have to explain how he was grabbed. Tom's clenched jaw made it clear that he understood Harry's meaning perfectly.

"He said some things."

The words _worthless_ , _mudblood_ , and _filth_ echoed through his head.

"Then he made me clean up the mess before throwing me in here."

Tom closed his eyes, a familiar look of concentration on his face. A moment later Harry felt a familiar coolness wash through his hands and wrap around his throat, the pain fading to almost nothing. Tom's eyes fluttered open and he turned his attention once more to Harry's hands, studying them intently. He turned them over and ran his thumbs gently along the now-pale skin. Apparently satisfied, he reached out and gently tilted Harry's head up, no doubt to examine his neck.

"Better?" Tom asked, hands falling from Harry's face.

"Loads," Harry replied.

Healing had come easier to Harry than it had to Tom, but his friend had improved a great deal in the three months they'd been trapped here. It probably hadn't hurt that they'd both had lots of chances to practice.

"Your hands?" Tom asked.

"Marvolo made me clean up the pieces of the plate, but only after he cast a heating charm on it."

Tom's eyes flashed and his hands curled into fists.

If Tom wasn't distracted soon, he would dwell on what had just happened, getting absorbed in his need for vengeance. Reaching under this robe, Harry pulled out the three books that he had stolen while cleaning. He dumped all of them into Tom's lap.

Tom gave Harry an unimpressed look, making it clear that he knew exactly what Harry was trying to do, but picked up the first title nonetheless. The muggles who had lived in the house previously had been academics of some sort. One of them had studied Norse Mythology, which made for a great deal of interesting reading. Harry frequently had to have Tom translate the dry, confusing books, but Tom was wonderful at explaining things. And he was even better at telling stories than his Mum or Dad. Even better than Uncle Sirius.

Harry was always certain to steal a book of myths in addition to whatever else he managed to grab. It was always interesting to hear the different versions of the myths he now knew well. Sometimes they got lucky and there was a new story in one of the collections.

This time he'd grabbed an anthology of myths, a book on runes, and a collection of translated epic poems.

"The poems and myths I understand, but why the runes?" Tom asked, holding up the book in question. "You tend to avoid picking purely academic texts unless you're rushed and have no other choice."

Harry found himself struck once again by how much his friend didn't know. Tom was the smartest person he had ever met, so it was always somewhat jarring when his ignorance about the wizarding world was exposed. Still, as much as Tom did for him, as much as he taught Harry, Harry was happy to have the chance to return the favor. Reaching out, Harry took the book from Tom, flicking through the pages as he explained.

"Runes are used in magic," Harry told him. "Used for lots of different things. Unlike spells or enchantments, which usually run out eventually, runes can anchor stuff for a long time or let you do more complicated things than just an incantation."

Harry had asked his Dad about them when they came up during a case he'd been working.

"More complicated things," Tom said, eyes narrowed shrewdly. "Something like wards?"

Wards were the reason he and Tom were still stuck here. If they hadn't been there, Harry knew that his dad and Uncle Sirius would have found them the same day they'd been taken. Tom had a much better feel for magic than Harry did, and had been the one to discover the barrier. Once he had described it, it had been Harry who had figured out what it was. After a lot of practice, hard work, and days of frustration later, Harry had been able to feel the wards too.

In order to be rescued, they'd need to get the wards down. Nothing they'd tried so far had been working. Maybe this would be the way to finally destroy the barrier.

Harry found a page that showed all the runes in what it called "Elder Futhark" and turned the book sideways so both he and Tom could look. Harry recognized some of the symbols, he was glad to see, but there was no detailed translation of the runes. Merely a few words for each. Not nearly enough information to figure out how to create useful combinations.

"You know how Marvolo and Morfin are," Tom said as he examined the alphabet, "there's no way they would take the time to learn something like this. The wards here can't possibly be rune based."

"I seriously doubt it," Harry agreed. "But maybe we could use the runes to find a way to pull them down. It's worth a shot, anyway. And if it doesn't work, at least we'll have a head start when we get to Hogwarts."

It was a when. How could it be anything else, with the two of them working together? All that stood between them and freedom was the wards. And even that wouldn't be enough if they managed to get a wand.

"Hogwarts," Tom said, a weird look on his face. "I suppose, no matter what else happens, we'll be together there."

"What does that mean?" Harry asked.

Tom gave him a long, unreadable look before placing the books from his lap into a careful pile. He reached out and shut the book on runes, placing it with the others. There was nothing between them now.

"What exactly do you imagine is going to happen when we get out of here, Harry?" Tom asked, a serious expression on his face.

"What?" Harry asked, thrown by the question.

"Tell me. What do you imagine happening when we escape? What story do you tell yourself after you wake up screaming in the middle of the night? What is your vision of a happy ending?"

"We escape," Harry said. That was the first step, in any happy ending, obviously. "Or we're rescued, I guess."

But if that was going to happen, it would have happened already. Harry was sure of that. If they were going to get out of here, they would have to do it themselves.

"We escape," Harry said, getting back on track, "and then we find my parents. We go home with them. We go to Hogwarts together. After that, I don't know. You end up as a professor, probably. I play quidditch for a living or something."

"And they lived happily ever after?" Tom drawled, a condescending smirk on his lips.

His eyes gave him away. They always did. He was worried about something. Afraid. He was trying to put distance between them while he struggled with whatever it was. A way to try and keep himself safe.

But Harry knew better.

"Yes," Harry said, reaching out and grabbing Tom's hand, holding it firmly. "We live happily ever after. You and me. Together."

Tom laughed, a bitter, cold thing. Harry hated it.

"You're so naive," Tom sneered at him, yanking his hand back. "What makes you think your parents would want anything to do with me?"

Scared, Harry reminded himself. Tom was scared, and he was lashing out.

"They will if I ask them to," Harry told him, convinced.

"Will they?" Tom asked, brow arched. "Will they really? I'm dangerous, you know. The staff at the children's home will jump at the chance to tell them exactly how terrible I am."

"I'll make them," Harry told him. "If I ask them to, because of what we've been through…they won't say no."

"Leveraging your kidnapping to get your way," Tom said with a mean smile. "I've been a terrible influence on you."

"Stop it," Harry snapped. "Just stop it. What is this actually about? You're scared. I can see you're scared. What are you afraid of?"

"You might get a happy ending, Harry," Tom said. "But I won't."

He looked at him, scorn falling away, desperate in a way Harry had never seen him before.

"They're going to separate us," Tom said. "The second we get out of here, you go back to your parents and I go into whatever the equivalent of wizarding children's services is. Even if you're parents agree to take me, it will be weeks, if not months, before we're together again. They're going to take you from me, and there's nothing I can do about it."

Harry threw himself at Tom, wrapping his arms around him, clinging as tightly as he could. Tom's arms wrapped around him in an instant, clutching him tightly.

"I won't let them," Harry whispered fiercely. "I won't let them separate us."

"I can't keep you from your parents," Tom said, running his hands through Harry's hair. "You'd be miserable."

Tom had clearly spent a lot of time thinking about this. A lot of time worrying about this. Harry just wished Tom had trusted him with his fears sooner.

"I'd be miserable without _you_ ," Harry told him, curling even closer.

There had to be a way. There had to be _something_ they could do. His cheek was pressed against Tom's robe, his hands fisted in the material, staring at a stain as he wracked his brain for a solution.

The stain. Blood.

"Blood," Harry said, sitting up. That was the answer. "Blood!"

"What?" Tom asked, staring down at him. There was a flicker of something in his gaze. Hope, maybe.

Harry sat back, smiling up at Tom.

"I know a way to make sure you and I can never be separated again."

"Tell me," Tom demanded.

"Blood brothers," Harry told him. "It's the only kind of blood magic that isn't illegal, because the old pureblood families would throw a fit if they tried. It ties two wizards or witches together in a way that can't be broken. Not by anything. If anybody tried to separate blood brothers, the wizarding world would be up in arms."

"You're certain that would work?" Tom looked thoughtful, but that awful desperation from earlier was gone. The flicker from before had lit his eyes entirely.

"My dad and Sirius are blood brothers," Harry told him. "I've seen it work, seen the kind of respect people give them when they find out. It's a big deal."

"What do we need to do?" Tom asked, eyes blazing.

Harry screwed his eyes shut, trying hard to remember every detail he'd ever heard about establishing the bond.

"I know there's usually a ceremony with a specific vow that's recited," Harry said slowly. "We cut our palms, then press them together, then recite the vow. If our intentions are true, then the ritual is complete and the bond established. I don't know how you know, exactly, but it's apparently really obvious when it's worked."

"Do you know the vow?" Tom asked.

Harry shook his head.

"No, I have no idea what the words are. Still, it's not like that's ever stopped you before."

Tom flashed him a triumphant grin at that, before standing, pulling Harry up with him. He dragged both of them off the blanket to a clear patch of dirt floor.

"No," Tom said with a smile. "I'd never let something as trivial as words keep me from what I wanted."

Harry looked around the room for something sharp. His eyes fell on the wine rack and his grinned. That would do nicely. Gently extricating himself from Tom's grip, Harry walked over, studying the bottles critically. He knew nothing about wine. Reaching out, he grabbed the first bottle that his hand touched.

"I didn't know they made wine out of apples," Harry remarked.

"You can ferment any fruit," Tom said, an amused tone to his voice.

Harry walked over to the wall and smashed the bottle against it, watching in satisfaction as it splintered apart, half the bottle still in Harry's hands, the rest in shards on the floor. There was a moment of silence, as both he and Tom waited to see if they'd attracted any attention with the noise of the bottle breaking. When the floor above him didn't creak, Harry let out a huge breath of relief.

Crouching down, Harry let the remains of the bottle fall to the floor with a quiet thud. He examined the shards, poking through them carefully with a finger. He found a nice, sharp triangular piece, one that was big enough to hold easily in his hand. Holding it triumphantly, Harry made his way back to where Tom was standing.

"How do you want to do this?" Harry asked him, glass held carefully in his hand.

"No words," Tom said after a considering pause. "They'll only get in the way. We cut our palms, press them together, and then focus. Focus on what we want. Magic and intent, just like always. Do you know which palm?"

Harry shook his head.

"Let's do both," Harry said. "That way, we can't get it wrong."

"Both then," Tom said, nodding in agreement.

Taking a deep breath, Harry closed his eyes. He pushed everything out of his head, until the only things there were him and Tom. He opened his eyes and found Tom staring down at him, dark eyes fixed on Harry, filled with emotion, hectic color on his cheeks.

Eyes never leaving Tom's, Harry adjusted his grip on the glass in his hand before forcing it into the skin of his palm. Harry let out a hiss of pain, but he forced himself to drag it down, leaving a long cut down the center. That accomplished, he dropped the shard of glass into his injured palm. Taking a deep breath, focusing through the pain with the ease of practice, Harry managed to get a grip on the glass. Slippery as it was, he managed to pull it across his palm without dropping it.

Wordlessly, Harry placed the glass into Tom's open hand.

Tom wrapped his fingers around it, a solemn expression on his face. He barely even twitched as he drew the glass down one palm, then the other. As soon as he had finished, he let the bloodied piece of glass fall to the ground.

Harry opened his hands and held them up in front of his body, palms forward. Tom mirrored him, pressing his palms against Harry's own. Harry took a deep breath and wove his fingers with Toms.

He reached out of his magic the way he had so many times before. _I want to stay with Tom forever_ , Harry thought, feeling the magic swell up within him. He let that sentence become his mantra, his magic flowing from his palms and into Tom, the way it had so often before. He could feel Tom's magic flowing back into him in turn. There was a pressure building in the air between them, magic saturating the environment.

Looking into Tom's eyes, Harry was struck once again by the visceral need to be here always, to never be parted from this man, to be with him always.

 _I want to stay with Tom forever_.

There was a bright flash of light and Harry was knocked of his feet by the force of the shockwave. For a long moment, Harry just let himself stare up at the floorboards, blinking. He burst into laughter.

"I suppose that would qualify as obvious," Tom drawled from across the room, sensing the turn of Harry's thoughts.

Harry just laughed harder. "Obvious" was maybe even understating things.

He sat up abruptly as the reality of the situation sunk in.

"It worked," he said wonderingly. "It _worked_."

Tom was sprawled on the floor across from him, pushing himself into a sitting position. He gave Harry a wide smile.

"It worked," Tom agreed, relaxed. Content in a way Harry had never seen him before.

Tom pushed himself up, examining his hands, eyebrows arching in surprise. It prompted Harry to examine his own. His palms were perfectly smooth, as if there had never been a cut in the first place. The blood was gone, vanished as if it had never happened. The only evidence that the ritual had occurred at all was the piece of bloodied glass lying on the floor between them.

Before Harry had a chance to contemplate things more, Tom's hand, as unmarred as Harry's own, was held out in front of him. Harry placed his hand in Tom's own and let the other boy haul him to his feet. He was pulled not just to his feet, but directly into Tom's arms.

"It worked," Tom said again, pulling Harry flush against him. "It _worked_ , Harry."

"It worked," Harry whispered back, tears in his eyes.

The fact that it had spoke volumes. The only way a blood-brotherhood ritual would work was if the feelings the participants had were comparable. Tom cared. Tom cared just as much as Harry did. After the last few months of being reminded how worthless he was at every turn, it was nice to have irrevocable evidence that someone thought he was worth something.

"You really care about me," Harry murmured into the fabric of Tom's robe.

"Of course I do," Tom said, and Harry could tell from his tone of voice that he was frowning. His hand slid up Harry's back to rest in his hair, rubbing gently. "Where are these doubts coming from?"

"I know you do," Harry said. "But it's nice to _know_."

"Explain," Tom said.

"Well, it wouldn't have worked if you didn't," Harry told him. "If our feelings weren't the same, the ritual wouldn't have done anything."

Tom froze.

"Are you certain?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

Harry nodded against Tom's chest.

"You feel about me the way I feel about you," Tom said slowly, as if testing each word individually. "The ritual wouldn't have worked otherwise."

Harry nodded again.

Tom said nothing, but his grip on Harry somehow became even tighter. When Harry finally looked up, unable to take the silence anymore, the expression on his friend's face was a sight to behold. A wide smile stretched across his face, his cheeks bright, eyes practically glowing. Not quite happiness. Not only happiness, anyway. Happiness and triumph and smug satisfaction all rolled into one.

Harry found himself unable to look away.

"It worked," Tom said again. "You're mine, Harry Potter. You're mine, and no one can take you away from me. Not now, not ever."

Him and Tom. Together, forever.

Harry beamed up at him. Too happy to properly contain himself, he did something he'd wanted to do for awhile but hadn't been able to find the courage to. Raising himself up on his tiptoes, Harry pressed a kiss to Tom's cheek.

Tom's eyes went wide, expression melting into one of complete shock. Harry couldn't help but laugh at the sight of it, for all that he could feel his cheeks burning. The expression faded, replaced by something Harry didn't recognize. Tom leaned down, dark eyes shining, before placing a gentle kiss on Harry's cheek as well.

"Come," Tom said, smiling warmly in the face of Harry's floored expression, "I believe we have some new books to read."

Tom gently lead Harry back to the blanket. When Tom had situated himself, Harry laid down, his head in Tom's lap. Tom reached out, picking up the newest book of myths and placing it in front of him, flipping past the introduction to the first chapter of the book. Fingers finding a home in Harry's hair, Tom began to read. Letting out a small sigh of contentment, Harry closed his eyes with a smile, letting Tom's words wash over him.

* * *

 **Don't let your children practice blood magic without adult supervision.**

 **Comments are my lifeblood and inspiration, guys. I would love to hear from you. Also, I am considering including the point of view of the adults in Harry's life as they try and find him. Is that something people would be interested in?**


	3. Chapter 3

**You can all thank amytheauthor and my other patrons for making this chapter possible. Any mistakes are, of course, my own.**

* * *

Tom stared down at the boy in his lap, running his fingers through silky black locks as he pondered the wonder that was Harry Potter.

When Tom had first met his Grandfather, he had thought that dreams he had abandoned long ago were finally coming true. Here, at last, was the family he had longed for. Finally, he would be free from the torment of the other children. To have that same grandfather explain Tom's abilities, to give him definitive proof that he was special, that he was better, seemed to perfect to be true.

It was.

It took Tom less than a day to discover that he'd simply traded one hell for another. Here, too, he was reviled. Whereas before it had been his magic that his tormentors at the children's home had abhorred him for, here it was his blood. Morfin and Marvolo were completely incapable of caring for themselves, and expected Tom to do everything for them. It was only proper, after all, that a mudblood like him earn his keep.

"Stupid squib of a mother ran of and died, useless thing," Marvolo sneered. "But not before she'd managed to drag our name through the mud. Still, I took you in. You may have dirty blood and the face of that muggle from the village, but you're all that's left of the Gaunt family. You're my heir. I won't have you growing up amongst the filth. No need for you to be any dirtier than you already are. You need to learn your place."

Tom had played this game before. Aside from the bitter feeling of betrayal, there was nothing new here. The words may have been different, the punishments harsher, but the meaning was the same. Always the same.

You are less. You are not worthy. You are different.

The taste of hope had turned to ashes in his mouth, and Tom had vowed to himself that he'd never be so naive as to allow it to grip him once again.

He would show them. He would show them all. Tom would show Morfin and Marvolo exactly who was superior to whom. They were the dirt beneath his feet. Disfigured, misshapen, too stupid to even care for themselves. Their magic felt like stagnant puddles compared to Tom's own deep reserves.

He memorized every curse they cast on him. How it sounded. How it felt. The way their magic moved when they cast it.

He would escape these deranged men, wait and learn, and once he was ready, he would return. For the pain they inflicted on him, Tom would punish them tenfold.

His heart hardened, determined to never allow himself to be so weak again, Tom had waited. And when the opportunity finally came, he had run.

Run straight into Harry.

Harry, who had offered comfort and companionship where there had been none before. Harry, who looked at Tom and saw not a monster, but someone powerful. Someone he looked to not with respect, but with awe. Harry, who had sacrificed his chance to save himself for even the smallest chance that Tom might go free.

His Harry.

Tom's heart, which had been turned to stone long ago, came to life at the sight of Harry's smile. Those green eyes, glowing with happiness always made it give an uncomfortable lurch. Holding Harry close like this filled him with a warmth that seemed to seep down to his very soul.

Harry had awakened things in Tom he'd thought himself incapable of. Brought emotions to life he'd thought destroyed long ago.

Emotion wasn't a weakness. No. Harry had proved that in spades. It was true that his grandfather could torture him better now than he ever had before. Pain Tom would have endured without issue became unbearable agony when inflicted on Harry.

Watching Harry under the cruciatus was nothing like watching the children of the orphanage writhing in pain. There was no vicious satisfaction, no dark curl of amusement, no malicious glee.

Instead, the sound of Harry's screams of agony, the sight of his small limbs thrashing against the floor, the smell of his urine soaking his trousers roused a rage in Tom like nothing he had ever felt before.

The closest he had come was when Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop had killed the snake he had befriended in the orphanage's yard and laughed about it.

Harry had found him when he was at his weakest, his lowest, and unlike all the children who had come before him, instead of taking advantage of Tom's state, he had held out his hand. Harry had held out his hand. He hadn't balked at Tom's strangeness.

Where everyone else has flinched in fear, Harry had exclaimed in wonder. Harry had seen Tom's hurts and had found a way to heal them.

The sight of those green eyes filled with pain, that small body writhing in agony was enough to pierce Tom at his core, even as his rage grew to levels he had not thought himself capable of.

Love was not weakness. No. Love was strength.

It was love that drove Tom's magic to bend in ways it had never wanted to twist before. Love that had their powers growing every day. Love that let Harry bear curses with stoicism that would have had any other person crying in agony.

Love was perhaps the most powerful force there was.

Love was what bound the two of them together, his blood running through Harry's veins, Harry's coursing through his own. Love that tied the two so closely no one could dare ever even attempt to break.

Love that meant Tom could feel Harry as he never had before. An awareness of not just where he was, but how he faired. As if Harry lay curled up in the back of Tom's mind, exactly the way he lay curled in his lap.

Harry Potter was the most important person in the entire world. Tom would get them out of here. Both of them, together. Once they were free, no one would ever lay a hand on Harry again.

Tom protected those few things he owned vehemently, cherished them. Treated them with care, lavishing them with attention.

For the only person he loved? Tom did not think there was anything he would not do.

Harry would be safe. Harry would be loved. Harry would be cherished and adored and worshipped as he deserved. Harry would want for nothing, and they would never be parted.

No matter what it took.

Tom didn't sleep that night, instead devoting himself to memorizing every facet of Harry's face. This, he knew, would be one of his most treasured memories. The day he and Harry had bound themselves together in the deepest and most permanent of ways. Tom didn't want to forget a single moment.

The deep dark of the basement began to lift, pitch black fading to a dark grey as the sun began to rise. Harry shifted in Tom's lap, his lips smacking together once as his eyelids fluttered.

"Good morning," Tom whispered, brushing Harry's hair back from his face.

Harry's brow furrowed in confusion, his eyes still heavy with sleep, and Tom was forced to admit that he'd never seen anything so adorable in all his life.

"Somethin's different," Harry murmured.

"Hmmm?" Tom said, not paying attention to the words, too intent on the boy who had spoken them.

"Something different," Harry said again, more clearly, his brow wrinkled.

He made to sit up, and Tom helped him shift until he was upright, leaving one hand supporting Harry's back.

"Something...can you feel that?" Harry asked him.

"Feel what?" Tom asked, reaching out with his magic automatically, searching for whatever it was that had so grabbed Harry's attention.

Morfin and Marvolo were still asleep, their barely-there magic still placid. The wards felt the same as ever, a barrier that cut his magic off from the rest of the world, stopping him from probing beyond the property no matter how hard he pushed.

The day after he and Harry had completed the ritual was the same as those that had come before it, for all that Tom couldn't fathom how. The very earth itself should have trembled at the magnitude of what had happened. Yet to Tom's senses, nothing was different. Everything was exactly as it had been.

"The wards," Harry said, his eyes closed and his brow furrowed. "Can't you feel it?"

Tom spread his magic out once again, pushing and prodding at every portion of the magic that kept them cut off from the rest of the world. But no matter how hard he probed, it felt the same as ever. There was nothing to explain Harry's reaction.

"Feel what, Harry?" Tom said.

"They're...they're different," Harry said slowly. "Before, it almost felt like running into a wall. Now it's more like a window."

Tom bit his lip in thought. The wards had always felt like that to him, as if he just understood them a little more, they would fall, the world beyond them close enough to taste. That Harry had felt them differently before was something Tom hadn't known.

So what had changed? What had shifted to make the wards different now?

All that had changed was the bond between them. The blood flowing in their veins.

Blood, Tom realized, his eyes blow wide with surprise. Blood.

" _Harry,"_ Tom hissed cautiously, " _Harry, do you understand me?"_

Harry shot tom a look that made it clear he was worried about his friend's mental state.

" _Of course I can understand,_ " Harry hissed back, mouth forming the language of the snakes as if it had been meant to do so from the start. _"You're speaking perfect English, Tom."_

 _"No,"_ Tom replied, a wide smile splitting across his face. _"No, Harry. You're speaking perfect parseltongue."_

Tom stared down at Harry, his chest almost painfully warm as the other boy's eyes brightened as he spoke in parseltongue, just because he could.

Harry couldn't tell when he was speaking the language, at least at first. To his ears, it apparently sounded the same. He could respond to Tom in parseltongue if the other boy spoke it first, but he couldn't speak the language without a cue of some sort. A picture of a snake seemed to do the trick, and Tom couldn't help but smile when after one such attempt, his eyes had lit up and he'd looked at Tom with a huge smile on his face.

"I heard it!" he said, his eyes glowing, his face alight with joy. "I heard it!"

Tom grinned at Harry, so full of affection and pride he thought that his chest might burst. He reached out and pulled the other boy into a hug.

"Well done, Harry" Tom said as he ran his hand's through Harry's hair. "I'm proud of you."

"Think of all the conversations we can have in secret once we get out of here!" Harry chirped happily.

Tom's eyes slipped closed and he tugged Harry up against him as tightly as he could. Harry's hope always left him humbled. Never a moment of doubt that they would find their way out of here. That there would be a life together after everything.

His hope gave Tom certainty. After all, he never wanted Harry's light to dim. But still, he worried.

The would escape. He knew it. Together, there was nothing they could not do. But how much more would Harry have to endure before they did? What state would his friend finally be in when they did?

"Tom," Harry said, his hands gripping Tom's robes suddenly, his voice soft and urgent.

Tom glanced down at his friend at once, concern coursing through him.

"Tom," Harry said again, staring up at him with wide eyes. "Tom, I think I know how to get us out of here."

* * *

Tom gave Harry a look before nodding. Hand trembling, Harry held the pen out to Tom, and for all that his hands were unsteady, all Tom could find in his eyes was an unwavering faith.

With Harry looking at him like that, Tom knew he could do anything.

Taking a deep breath, Tom cleared his mind, focusing intently on the wards, Harry's magic a reassuring presence at his back. In four strokes, he had drawn the runes they had decided on after pouring over the book.

Othala, in reverse. A declaration that this was not their home and never would be. A rejection of his "birthright", his ties to Morfin and Marvolo. The destruction of the walls that the two had created.

Dagaz. Crossing out of the darkness and back into the light. The dawning of the sun after a night of darkness. Transformation of one thing into it's opposite. The synthesis of two, of complement. Harry and Tom, coming together. Harry and Tom, crossing back into the light after so long trapped in this darkness.

Tom took a deep breath, the meaning of the runes fixed in his mind, and opened his mouth to speak.

"Wait!" Harry said suddenly. "Wait."

He ran across the room to where the shattered piece of glass from the night before lay and came back over.

"If we can use our blood to call upon the bond somehow..." Harry said, trailing off, looking nervously up at Tom.

"Brilliant, Harry," Tom said simply, meaning every word.

If there was one thing yesterday had taught him, it was the power that combining blood and magic could yield. They might only have one chance at this. Harry had no idea if Morfin and Marvolo would feel it if they tried to bring down the wards and failed. But Tom knew that if they did, there would be no trying again.

The wards had to fall. They _had_ to.

Harry took a deep breath and cut his palm before passing the bloodied glass to Tom the way he had the night before. Taking a deep breath himself, Tom took the slippery shard in his hands and pierced his own skin, blood welling up to the surface.

Tom turned to face Harry, only to find the other boy staring up at him in determination.

"I love you, Tom," Harry said fiercely. "I love you."

The expression on his face made it impossible to doubt him, and Tom felt as if someone had struck him.

"No matter what happens," Harry said, reaching out and grabbing Tom's bloodied hand in his own, their poses an echo of the ritual the night before. "I love you. I'd do everything exactly the same if it meant that I could meet you again."

Tom did not have the words to express the roil of emotions that were coursing through his chest. Still, he had to try.

"You...Harry Potter, because of you I am alive today. Before I did whatever it took to survive, but you were the one who taught me how to live." Tom took a deep breath, distressed to find it more than a little bit unsteady. "I love you, Harry Potter. I love you, and I will never let anything keep us apart."

The emotion welling up in Tom demanded an outlet, and he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the boy's forehead, doing his best to ignore the burning in his eyes.

This was not the end, Tom vowed to himself. This was not goodbye, as Harry so clearly feared. This was only the beginning.

Pulling away, Tom turned back to the runes he'd drawn on the walls.

"Say it with me," Tom ordered Harry.

Harry looked up at him in confusion.

"Together or not at all," Tom said simply.

"Together or not at all," Harry agreed.

Taking a deep breath, refusing to release his grip on Harry'd hand, Tom reached deep inside himself. He ignored the magic on the surface, the magic he'd relied on to survive as a child, and reached deeper. Reached for the source he'd only found after meeting Harry. The core of all his magic. Taking a deep breath, focusing on the warmth of the hand that he held in his own, Tom began to draw this magic forward.

 _I have to protect him_ , Tom thought. _I have to keep him safe. No matter what it takes, I will protect him._

Tom could feel Harry's magic between them, centered at their hands, and Tom did the same. Closing his eyes, he focused on Harry's smile. On the feeling of Harry in his arms. On how complete he felt now, a part of himself he hadn't even known was empty filled by the presence of the boy at his side.

Morfin and Marvolo were not his family. This was not his home.

Harry was his family. Harry was home.

Tom would keep him safe.

Pouring all his love into the space between them, to the place where their blood intermingled, Tom felt the energy in the air shift.

Now.

Both he and Harry slapped the wall, their fingers still overlapping as their palms pressed against the runes. Tom's had fallen atop the reversed Othala, and Harry's on Dagaz.

" _Dissolve,_ " Tom hissed, infusing his voice with magic, his mind fixed on a vision of the bubble that enclosed them shattering to pieces. _"All that you are, all that you stand for, I reject. You have no power over me!"_

" _Shatter,_ " Harry's voice hissed beside him. " _The wheel turns. Light conquers darkness. Imprison us no more!"_

Tom's brow was wet with sweat, his body aching as it never had before, but he stood firm, leaning against Harry even as Harry leaned against him, the two supporting one another. The magic exploded from between them, snaking across and around the inside of the dome that kept them prisoner. The wards pushed back, but Tom would have none of it.

 _"Freedom!"_ he cried, shoving at the wards with all his might, Harry's voice and magic moving with his own in perfect time.

The wards shattered, exploding outwards.

Tom fell to the floor, all of his strength draining from him. A moment later, Harry fell beside him. Tom reached out just enough to touch his hand to Harry's only to find Harry reaching back.

Their fingers intertwined, and Tom turned his head so that he could see Harry, finding those green eyes staring back at him, sparkling with triumph.

They had done it. They were free.

Staring into Harry's eyes gave Tom the strength he need to pull himself upwards, dragging Harry along with him. He pulled Harry close and closed his eyes, burying his face in the crook of Harry's neck, taking comfort in the smell that had become so familiar to him. Harry's arms covered Tom's own where they wrapped around Harry's waist, Harry's head resting against his chest. Tom closed his eyes and focused on the feeling of Harry's breaths, of his chest rising and falling, of the familiar sensations of having the other boy in his arms.

Tom had no notion of how long they sat there, Tom taking comforting in Harry and regaining his strength, hoping that he was doing the same for the boy within his arms.

As soon as he thought he could trust his legs again, Tom turned his attention to Harry.

"Can you stand?" Tom asked him.

Harry nodded, his jaw firm.

"I'm not spending a single second longer here than I absolutely have to," Harry answered, his eyes shining with emotion.

Tom managed to haul himself to his feet and reached down to help Harry, who was struggling to do the same. Tom pulled Harry's arm around his shoulder, and, supporting each other, they somehow managed to make their way up the stairs.

Tom felt like he grew stronger with each step, and by the the time they had reached the door that separated them from the rest of the house, he felt almost himself again. Tom gestured at the door, using his magic to push it open, unwilling to relinquish his hold on Harry.

As soon as they stepped into the hallway, Tom understood exactly why it was he had regained his strength so quickly. Harry's face was wan in the pale dawn light, and now that Tom was paying closer attention, he could feel Harry's magic lapping over him. It was difficult, distinguishing between the new awareness the bond brought him and the feeling of Harry's magic acting on him.

"Stop that," Tom ordered, shifting to hold more of Harry's weight. "Save your strength, Harry."

"You're better'n me at spells," Harry muttered, his eyes dull. "So you need it more. Sides, I trust you. You'll keep me safe."

"Of course I will," Tom said, without hesitation. There wasn't anything Tom would not do for Harry Potter. "But Harry," Tom said, adjusting his grip on the boy beside him, "you need to keep your strength up."

Tom could remember his own frenzied flight and fought off a shudder at the memory of the terror, of pushing himself to exhaustion, past the point where his muscles could bear him and it seemed only pure desperation had kept him moving.

"You'll need your strength," Tom said again. He reached out for the bond between them and gently guided his magic towards the boy, shoring him up, giving Harry the strength he would need.

The magic flowed back and forth between them, until Tom did not know where Harry's magic ended and his own began. Each pass it seemed to grow in strength, as if it was resonating between the two of them, gaining energy as it passed from one boy to the other.

When it finally faded, Tom was sore. He ached, and was hungry and he knew he would have no trouble sleeping the moment he set his head down. But he could move. He could feel his magic and Harry's magic flowing through them, so intertwined that even Tom could not tell one from the other.

His strength had returned. Enough, at least, for what was to come.

One glance at his only friend revealed that Tom had not been the only one effected. Harry's color had returned, and he was bearing his own weight now.

Tom slowly unwound his arm from around Harry, as loath as he was to let the boy go. Still, they would both need to be as unencumbered as possible. There had been no sight of either Morfin or Marvolo so far, but even if they managed to escape the house without encountering either of them, Tom knew it would not be long before the two came after them.

Tom looked at Harry and held out his hand, which the other boy reached out and took. Tom took a moment to squeeze it tightly, waiting for Harry's hand to tighten in turn.

Together or not at all, Tom reminded himself, squaring his shoulder. Today it would be together.

Tom turned and crept down the hallway, Harry behind him, their bare feet all but silent on the wooden floors. The house, Tom saw, was deserted, and he allowed himself a moment to hope that perhaps they could escape without confronting his relatives one last time.

They made it as far as the living room before Tom froze, eyes blown wide with horror.

Morfin and Marvolo. Both of them, standing between him and the door, wands drawn, malice like nothing Tom had ever seen shining in their eyes.

"Filthy halfblood," Marvolo growled. "Just like your stupid mother."

Tom's free hand fisted, and he knew his grip on Harry's hand must be painfully tight.

"Turning you back on your family!" the man shouted, spittle flying through the air, his face flushed a dangerous shade of red, "Betraying us! And for _what! "_

Marvolo turned his wand on Harry.

"This stupid, worthless piece of filth!" Morfin shouted. "Well, I won't be making the same mistake again. I'm going to do to the brat what I should have done to that muggle trash. Going to get rid of the problem once and for all."

Faster than Tom could react, the wand twitched and Harry was yanked away from his grasp, dragged across the floor until he stood alone in the no man's land between them.

"Watch, boy!" Marvolo snarled. "Learn you lesson!"

Marvolo cried out a word Tom didn't recognize, and the spell flew from the tip of his wand. Tom watched the unfamiliar purple flame connect with Harry's chest, knocking him backwards. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell to the floor, limp and unmoving.

 _Together or not at all_.

Tom snapped.

The dark thing that lived in his chest, the part of him that delighted in the pain of others, that took malicious glee in causing that pain himself, the thing that wanted to burn the world to ashes just because he _could_ , the thing that snarled and lashed out at all but had curled up and purred quietly under Harry's attentions had sprang to life once again.

Raw fury burned through him, his magic raging through him in it's wake. A gesture, and Marvolo's wand was ripped from his hand, sent soaring through the air before connecting sharply with Tom's palm.

As soon as it connected, his magic flared even brighter, the power roaring in his ears as he turned that wand back on the man who had just taken everything from him. He swatted the spell Morfin sent at him away with an easy flick of the wand he had claimed, sending it back at it's caster who fell with a scream. Tom didn't care. Marvolo was all that mattered now. Making him suffer. Making him pay for everything he had done before he deigned to grant him the mercy of death.

He knew exactly what spells were needed to torture. The Gaunts had taught him that much.

 _"Crucio,"_ he snarled, pointing the wand at the two of them, his rage fueling him, magic surging out of him through the wand, more powerful, more vicious than his magic had ever been before.

Marvolo fell to the ground screaming. Tom held them under the curse as he walked forward, his rage only growing with every step. Louder. The man needed to scream louder. This was only the beginning, after all.

The monster in his chest was _out_ now, the chain broken. The only thing that would sate it was suffering. And Marvolo had not yet begun to suffer.

Tom let the curse fall when he stood before the man who had been his capture and tormentor for so long. He was even more pathetic than ever, now. Stripped of his power, he was _nothing_. A weak, malformed creature, more animal than man.

Marvolo stared at him with wide eyes, eyes filled with pain.

Tom didn't care. All he could see was the way Harry's brilliant, beautiful green eyes had lost the light Tom so loved as he went flying through the air. He brought his foot down as hard as he could on Marvolo's grasping hand, smiling sharply when the man cried out in pain. He twisted his foot and there was a satisfying snapping sound.

Tom bent down, peering directly into the eyes of the man who had ripped his world apart.

"This," Tom promised him, staring at those rheumy eyes, filled with tears of pain, "this is only the beginning. By the time I am done with you, you will _beg for death_. And I? I am not merciful."

It was not a threat. No. Tom did not make threats. It was a promise. One he intended to keep.

After all, the Gaunts had gone to all the trouble of finding a secluded spot. Somewhere where no one would hear the screams. It would be a shame to let that work go to waste.

Marvolo's broken hand shifted, the light of the sun catching on the ring on his finger. Tom reached out and grabbed it, staring directly in the man's eyes as he wrenched it off his finger in the most painful manor possible.

There was nothing Marvolo valued more than his heritage, more than his family line. The last proof of his illustrious heritage was Tom's now. The family line had been "tainted" by Tom's muggle blood, a taint he was proud to bear in this moment. He would never be a Gaunt. Not in name or in manor. The last of the line would die here, in this room.

Tom would end Marvolo's world where Marvolo had ended his. It was only fitting.

Tom raised the wand, another curse on his lips. Before he could utter it, however, there was a groan. Weak and pitiful and full of pain. Had it come from in front of him, Tom would not have cared, except to try and provoke more noises of the same type.

But the noise had come from behind him.

Tom turned away and sprinted the few steps that separated them, falling to his knees beside Harry, everything else forgotten. He dropped the wand in favor of grasping one of Harry's cold, limp hands in both his own, fingers grasping for a pulse. Hands shaking too hard to find one, Tom folded himself in two, dropping his head against Harry's chest. He screwed his eyes shut in concentration, focusing with everything he had on the noises beneath him.

There! There. Faint, but unmistakable. The familiar thump of Harry's heart in his chest.

Tom focused on his magic with a desperation he had never felt before, pushing everything he had into healing the only person he cared for. Not even the sound of his prey escaping could distract him. Harry was everything. Nothing else mattered.

Tom would not lose him.


End file.
